


Late Night

by orphan_account



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 05:39:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10237061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Hardy and Ellie are working late together, and Ellie ends up staying at his house for the night.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written after S03E02, and set just a little further ahead in the series.

He was already berating her, even as he opened the door to greet her. ‘The hell are you doing here? Miller, you can’t keep showing up here at two in the morning.' 

‘I know, but I can’t sleep at home,’ she tells him restlessly, thrusting her hands into her pockets. ‘I’m going mad, just pacing in circles. I want to work, and I knew you’d be up.’

He exhales through his nose, his mouth set in a grim line.

‘You can come in,’ he says, motioning for her to enter. ‘But we have to keep the noise down. Daisy’s asleep.’

He nods in the direction of her bedroom.

‘Doesn’t she usually stay with friends?’ Ellie crossed the threshold and kicked off her shoes. Hardy closed the door behind her and locked it firmly. He cast a wary eye over the surroundings outside before he drew the curtains and answered her.

‘She’s got a curfew now. No staying out past eight. Not while...'

He breaks off, his lips twisting. He walks to the couch and sits down with a huff.

‘She’s livid about it too.’

‘Better make sure you’ve got good locks on her windows, then’ Ellie remarks. She sits next to him. ‘Whenever mum grounded me I used to sneak out my bedroom window. Got up to all sorts of trouble. Mainly snogging Andy Johnson behind the local chippy.’

‘Windows don’t open far enough to climb through,’ Hardy grunts. ‘I’ve checked. Though I was more concerned with people coming in than going out.’

There was a pause.

‘We have to catch him, Miller.’

‘I know,’ Ellie says gloomily.

'The thought of him out there, walking free...'

‘I can’t bear to think about what it’ll mean for Trish and her friends when we find him.'

'It's every other woman in Broadchurch we have to think of right now.’

She gestures to the evidence spread across the coffee table. 'You made any progress here?' 

'A little. Had to wait until Daisy went to bed to look through it. Don't want her seeing this stuff.'

Ellie brushes one of the papers aside to reveal a photograph of Trish's injuries. A look of utter misery falls over her and she sighs.

Hardy notes this. His eyes flick over her. ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’ he asks.

She slumps back. ‘Got anything herbal? Caffeine’ll probably do me in at this time of night.’ 

‘Chamomile?’

‘Ta.’

He hands her a small sheaf of papers. ‘I’ve been looking over forensics. Made some annotations. Tell me what you think.’

She casts her eye over the papers while he heads to the kitchen. 'You have atrocious handwriting, have I ever told you that?'

'Many times, Miller.'

'You're worse than my doctor.'

She leafs through them. She can hear the kettle boiling. In time, Hardy emerges with two cups of herbal tea, made strong, just the way she likes it, and they sit together, talking quietly as they run through the reports.

After about an hour, Ellie starts yawning. After the fourth yawn, which infects Hardy too, he says:

'Enough for one night?' 

Ellie rubs her eyes. 'Mm. Yeah. I should try to get some sleep.'

'D'you - d'you want to stay here?'

The proposition hangs awkwardly in the air. She deflects it. 

'It's just a five minute drive to get home.' She stands up and pats her pockets, looking for her keys.

Hardy follows her to the door, looking tense.

‘You shouldn’t be going home this late at night.’

She can sense his unease, and she knows what's prompting his concern.

‘You can have my bed,’ he continues. When she retains her look of determination to flee into the night, he touches her orange sleeve and tugs once. ‘Please, stay.’

He withdraws immediately. His skin did not touch hers, yet the contact still made her prickle.

‘I’m not going to steal your bed.’

‘I won’t be sleeping tonight anyway,’ he insists. ‘Twenty minute kip on the couch is about all I can manage these days.'

She shifts from foot to foot. Truth be told, she's so tired she's not even sure she can manage the five minute drive now.

‘You’re sure?’

He nods.

She wrings her hands. ‘I don't have PJs.’ 

‘You can borrow some of mine.’

‘You actually own PJs?’

‘Well – no, but I have some old things you can wear. I’ll find something.’

Ellie capitulates. 'Okay.' She sits back down on the couch and rests her cheek upon her hand. ‘Thanks, Hardy.’

He bustles into his bedroom. Ellie watches him root around in the drawers for a bit, and a soft smile curls the corners of her mouth. He can be unbearably sweet sometimes, in his own way.

‘You have to get me up early tomorrow,’ she mumbles, stifling another yawn, as Hardy emerges and gives her a ratty pair of trackpants and a blue t-shirt. ‘It’s Tom’s first day back at school and I want to see him off myself.’

‘Ah, the young renegade,’ Hardy says. He sits next to her. ‘Think he’s learned his lesson?’ 

‘No. And I have no idea how to discipline him. He insists that it’s normal and that everyone watches it these days, and I don’t know where normal teenage boy ends and…’ she fumbles for a word, ‘ _perversion_ begins.’

Hardy thrusts his lip out in contemplation. ‘If it makes you feel any better, my friends and I used to pass around magazines when I was his age.’

‘No!’ she goggles at him.

‘Yeah. M’not proud of it.’

‘I’m more surprised that you had friends, to be honest.’

He frowns at her. She moves on swiftly.

‘It’s just – well, Beth and I were saying, the stuff that kids have access to these days. What he was passing around went well beyond a few naked girls like you'd see in a magazine.’ She brightens suddenly. ‘Do you think _you_ could talk to him?’

Hardy chokes. ‘Me?’ 

‘It might do him some good, to hear about this from you. I think you’d sort right from wrong pretty quick. And it’d be good to have a conversation man to man. He’s really been missing a -’ she almost said father figure, but thought the better of it, ‘male role model.’

He sputters. ‘Can’t his grandfather do it?’

‘His grandfather wouldn’t lift a finger to deal with this stuff,’ Ellie says darkly. ‘Plus – you could scare him straight. He won’t say it, but I can tell he’s a bit intimidated by you. Comes with the DI title, I suppose.’ 

She gives him a winning smile. Looking profoundly uncomfortable, Hardy mumbles, ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

‘Good.’

She unfolds the blue t-shirt Hardy gave her. ‘Superman?’ she asks, holding it up and examining the large ‘S’ insignia emblazoned on it.

He grunts. ‘Daisy got it for me. Thought it was cute.’

‘Have you ever worn it?’

‘Sometimes, just to keep her happy.’

She chuckles. ‘I’d love to see you wear it someday.’

He doesn’t smile, but he blinks at her in a soft, wry sort of way that lets her know she’s amused him. She stands up and heads to the bathroom.

‘I suppose it’s too much to ask if you have a spare toothbrush?’

‘No such luck.’

She closes the bathroom door. About a minute passes and she emerges wearing Hardy’s oversized trackpants and Superman t-shirt. With her long hair curling softly around her shoulders, it is an achingly domestic image. He winces at the hit and has to look away.

Ellie dumps her clothes on the floor near the couch, her bright orange coat standing guard atop the pile.

‘How do you feel about sharing toothbrushes?’ she asks.

‘There’s mouthwash under the sink. Just use that.’

‘Fine.’

She stomps off. He hears her gargle, then she splashes her face with cold water. Hardy sets up the bed as she does this, putting out an extra blanket for her and fluffing the pillows. She creeps into the room behind him.

‘You’re sure you’re okay with me taking the bed?’ she asks, even as she looks longingly at the bed in question. ‘I can always go on the couch…’

‘No. It’s all yours.’

‘Or we could go top and tails. Or one on the inside, and one on the outside of the covers.’ 

‘I told you, I won't be sleeping.’

‘I know… but I still feel bad kicking you out of your bed in your own house.’ 

He firmly thrusts a pillow into her arms. ‘Go to sleep, Miller.’

He heads out of the room, back to where the growing piles of evidence are waiting.

‘Hardy,’ she calls after him.

He turns to look at her.

‘Get me up at seven, will you? Don't let me sleep in.’

He nods.

‘And Hardy.’

He waits patiently for her next directive. She bites her lip.

‘I won’t mind,’ she says. ‘If you decide to get into bed. On top of the covers, I mean. If you get tired…’ 

He shakes his head. ‘Goodnight, Miller.’

He flicks the light off and closes the door, leaving it ajar just a little bit.

‘Goodnight,’ Ellie murmurs after him.

She gets into the bed. The sheets are soft flannel; warm and inviting. She pats the pillow and nuzzles into it, breathing in the smell of hair, sebum, and faint aftershave that has permeated it. It smells so much like him, and she’s almost embarrassed at how comforting she finds it.

Three years without a partner have caused her to habitually spread herself generously across her double bed at home, but she is conservative now, and keeps to her side of the bed – the right side – in the faint hope that Hardy might join her. No – not _hope,_ she scolds herself. In the _possibility_ that Hardy might grow tired and want to sleep in his own bed, leaving one side available for him was simply the courteous thing to do. 

She curls up in the blankets and closes her eyes.

Sometime later in the night, she wakes up and rolls towards the faint light that’s drifting through the door. Blinking blearily, keeping one eye closed against the glare, she creeps to the door and peeps out.

Hardy is asleep. He's stretched along the couch, dozing fitfully. Between disappointment, resignation, and strange affection, Ellie returns to the bed alone.

She still leaves Hardy’s side empty, no longer in hope but with a sense of nostalgia. She reaches out and crosses into that other half, touches the empty pillow, and recalls the time they had shared a bed all those years ago.

Strange how it sticks in her mind so prominently. Strange how that should be a lovelier memory than any of her sharing a bed with her husband.

With a shrug and an exhale, she rolls over and closes her eyes once more.


End file.
